Becoming Doomed
by Child of the Doomed
Summary: Zim experiences… changes… that make him freak out a little. I won’t discourage your reading this by saying it’s my first and please be nice. Nuh-uh, won’t be sayin’ that. ZAGR.
1. Chapter 1

I'll try to hold myself back from criticizing on how horrible I write… but I keep writing anyway. Rated T only because of a bad word later on that my sister didn't like… but should really have no effect on you. Oh, and some implication of… naughtiness? I don't know where she got that from. I'll devour you all and your souls later with my friendly exorcist ways. Anyway, my first fic here… could use criticism from people besides myself, although, I never take it very well… and flames I guess too, but I only really like to insult the person back as best I can. This is boring at first, yessss… but I guess it gets better later.

Disclaimer: If you really don't know I don't own this, I pity you. I am a mere white, slightly anti-social freak who likes to write of things that aren't even of his own imagination. And that's the most creative disclaimer I have for you. There. Die.

_VICTORY! Victory for ZIM! _

_Finally, after these many years of blending with this horrible subspecies, bending at their will, just to appear what they termed normalcy in their disorderly world, they would finally bow to their knees to the almightiness that was Zim. He was no Invader. He was a CONQUEROR. Conqueror Zim. Now that was a fitting title for the praise he so rightly deserved. But it would not stop there. Oh no, so many new words would be added to the human and Irken dictionaries to just minimally describe the divinity that was he! No words to be created could fully express his greatness! _

_After all this time being ridiculed, laughed at, hurt in the squeedilyspooch, and enduring the torture of the indigenous life possibly realizing his true mission, these beings were under his control and at his merciless mercy. _

_And now, the insufferable filth – Dib and tolerating his constant stalking and endeavors to prove his differing anatomy by dissecting him and revealing his insides to all mankind… a thing of the past. _

_This pitiful race knew who he was now. _

_Their downfall. _

_Their leader. _

_The idiotic paranormal investigator would no longer irritate him. His little information on him was futile; there would be no resistance he could muster to overwhelm his dominance. The living of the humans, if not decided to be eradicated, would be enslaved and forced to build colossal stone statues of his incredible physique to express his immense awesomeness. And Gir would get his taste of the glory too; maybe even piggies could be carved into blocks of stone and maybe a few extras for his expanding empire on the moon. Oh, and not to forget Dib, he would get his share too. Zim could just imagine the stone copies of Dib with an utterly horrified carved expression and some form of pointy object cutting through his gargantuan head in sculpture. _

_But more important things were to be done. First to watch the major cities of this sad revolving rock of dirt burn to the ground as well as hear the diminishing screams of those unlucky inhabitants who hadn't be found by his Irken enforcements. As what the conqueror was doing now. _

_Somewhere in a barren grassy plain, on the edge of a cliff, Zim stood, looking… important. The grass was dying to have such potent importance stand upon it and the sky darkened ominously to its new master. _

_The Invader watched with wide red implants of wicked pleasure to see the horrid city burn with horrible fires generated by really… pretty… lasers. The green boy grinned. That sliver of enemy territory had now fallen. What a beautiful sight to see it die. And with a good view too. With his new height. These fading monsters of height, comparable to his Tallests, no longer towered over him. After 7 years, he had grown to the full height of a human adult almost -to about 6 foot 3. Was he not just absolutely beyond perfection? _

_He was King now. He would rule these peasant entities of doom with his iron fist to be feared and obeyed. He would make them suffer for how much they magnified the terror of his simple mission and for extending it to this long. _

_And with his queen. The love of his life? The lovely QUEEN- ??_

Zim awoke with a start from his inoperative body's distress, leaping to his feet, breathing hard, despite the fact he didn't have lungs like a human. It happened again. This was bad. Very bad. Why was this happening to him? The Irken calmed himself. Had he been asleep? No, he couldn't have. Irkens had no need to sleep, sure, maybe fall inoperative temporarily so that his squeedilyspooch can revive and such, but never yield entirely to something comparable to a human subconscious's takeover. But these visions… where were they coming from? If coming from his mind, they had to be coming from his PAK; his PAK must be getting too faulty. Yeesss, that had to be it.

"COMPUTER!" Zim demanded the house's presence.

"Yes, Master?" his computer gave the reply, sounding unusually attentive today, like he had also had some time to rest.

"I need you to perform a performance scan on my PAK. I suspect it's not at full-production and stooping to levels where it conducts there HIDEIOUS visions from the data it collects from this FILTHY planet. Also, scan my brilliant brain-meats for foreign imprinting of any kind," Zim commanded. After deciphering Zim's thesaurus-y words that he continued to use strangely like a bad author obviously trying too hard to capture his character, the computer was silent until a low hum sounded and from somewhere in the base, a netted blue light shown on Zim's back, crawling up and down the PAK. The light retired and came back, receded in size, to check the upper area of Zim's impatient head before completely withdrawing.

"Scan complete," the computer told him automatically. "No signs of foreign imprinting found."

"What about my PAK? Is its performance… not… gooder… as before?" Zim asked, "drastically enough to shut down every now and then to supply these visions?"

"Weeell," his computer droned, knowing it was on a touchy subject. "Nothing out of the ordinary as far as a defective PAK would go…"

Zim cringed to hear the word 'defective'.

"But as far as standard programs go, its progress is fine. The personality region is questionable, as always…"

It waited a second, wondering if Zim would lash out at him. He fortunately didn't.

"… Cause of momentary shut downs and "visioning" is unknown."

"Eh, I AM ZIM. The PAK must have a glitch, what other explanation is there?!" Zim yelled, raising his voice for the reason he normally would – for no apparent reason.

"Well, what explanation is there for Gir?" the computer asked.

"GIR? What is wrong with my robot slave?!" The green boy sounded insulted.

"He shuts down and has these visions all the time… unfortunately, many of them while still awake."

"Gir has _my_ problem?"

"Possibly, he does seem to have a deluded sense of reality."

"_MY_ GIR?! _MY_ accomplice? _MY_ slave? You speak nonsense, computer! _SHEER NONSENSE!_"

"I'M GONNA 'SPOLDE WHEN PIGS 'SPLODY!" Gir's laughter bounced into the room, bounding off the sides of the metal walls, creating multitudes of the phrase that slowly diminished to leave Zim in his awkward silence and to just imagine if his computer was smirking.

"Okaaay I admit, he does have some behavioral glitches," Zim mused thoughtfully, "but to have a problem as advanced as mine? Can he?"

"It's possible."

Zim hesitated.

"Leave me, computer, do whatever minorities you do around here."

"You mean like RUN your entire base?"

"Yeah yeah, minor stuff like that or whatever."

His computer sighed, undervalued as usual, and left to keep the base under control. Zim stayed busy in thought. This wasn't normal, not at all, especially since keeping from being aloud was not a characteristic of his. Usually, he yelled or screamed to the world all that his mighty mind interpreted and imagined, but now, he felt more comforted when keeping his thoughts in the protected vicinity of his head. Why? Same reason he was tiring so easily and why he was seeing these crazy mental pictures. He had no clue why they were occurring. Whatever it was, it probably wasn't a complete shortcoming, far from it actually. No longer was he short, as some people would put it, and in more ways than one, Zim knew all were substandard compared to him anyway, but he had now the sophisticated stature of the humans as well. The dream wasn't an unreachable dream, as it seemed to Zim these days, but his height was realistic there. He was about 6 foot 3" according to the worm babies' measurement system. Whatever the virus attacking him, it was increasing his length. Everything looked even smaller, even meager, and even more inferior to Zim. But what good was the height if the energy to hold it kept failing him? Maybe the computer had been right. Gir had similar symptoms, except for growth, but that was understandable. He was a robot, and since both their brains worked the same way- by computer, Gir might just be the answer.

"GIR!" Zim screeched.

"YES MY MASTER?" Gir appeared before him, eyes red with slowing obedience. They negligent blue returned to the lit goggles and Gir's head began to wander, seeing all the many things there were to do instead of listening to his Irken master.

"Gir, focus… well, since we're on the topic, why CAN'T you focus?" Zim asked.

Gir looked at him blankly.

"I dunno."

"Oookey, well then… why does your programming not fully execute your submission unto ME?!"

"Look, I havta make biscuits, sooo… LET'S MAKE 'EM!" Gir squealed.

"NO GIR! ERRRGH, why do you not listen to me?!"

"…I dunno."

Zim exhaled slowly, calming his Irken nerves. Or WERE they Irken? He didn't feel himself. He didn't feel like an Irken, a superior body of SUPERIORNESS like the Irken Empire rightfully termed as a fact to there almost complete Operation Impending Doom II. Maybe it was because he wasn't. He was a defective. A miserable defective. Just as his robot. Though Gir was definitely not miserable. Zim had to face the facts. His PAK was flawed. He was flawed. He was just never wired to live a full life. He was dying.

He suddenly felt the usual lightweight of the PAK on his back simmer, as in the normal energy it fed through his veins was lessening, and the PAK itself gaining weight as fast as… an American (fast!) on his weakening body. He needed to do something before he shut down again.

"Gir… um, want to make biscuits?"

"YAAAAAAAAAAAAAYYY!!"

Zim felt his antennas droop to his shoulders as those too slumped. Depressing. This might be one of his only memories of achievement in his life. Pouring ready-made biscuit batter with his robot. But if he was dying, he might as well spend some quality time with his metallic slave before his PAK decided to finally give away.


	2. Chapter 2

THE GRID SHALL MAKE THE INTERNET OBSOLETE AND RULE US ALL… heehee, can't wait. This took a long time… and I blame basketball… because somehow… I got on a team? I'm… not sure how that happened exactly, but I am and it takes a horrendous amount of time I should like very much to take back. But I can't say 'no' to anything… and now a boring first attempt at a second chapter…

Chapter 2

Zim awoke from an inactive interval, something at least he refused to call human "sleep", with the sensation of his squeedilyspooch rumbling. Rumbling? It never… rumbled before. It stopped just as the thoughts began to enter his mind, but Zim still didn't take it the right way.

"GIRRR!!" he screamed into the bowels of the transmission room.

Gir suddenly appeared with a, "Yes Master?"

"Gir. Did you put anything in those biscuits?!" Zim accused. "Something's toying with my insides!"

Gir gave him that typical look that meant he had no clue about the biscuits, he forgot about these kinds of things due to a defective memory and the dozens of occasions of making biscuits anyway.

"We gonna make some!" Gir finally decided to squeal.

"NO! Eerrgh, no, we're never making those YEAST filthies every again," Zim hissed.

SHOCK.

"What did you put in those biscuits, Gir? I demand to know!" the Irken growled menacingly to his oblivious servant. Gir breathed in, ready to tell him…

"WE'RE GOING TO MAKE BISCUITS FOR THE BISCUIT QUEEN!"

"GIR! Focus, you melodramatic FOOL!" Zim laced the words irately. "Remember we made biscuits? Like, a few hours ago, I guess? Did you poison them?! What did you do with them?!"

Gir shrugged, letting some drool emanate. He had no clue. Zim groaned. How could he keep up with such incompetence? He knew what a weakling he truly was now, but surely he possessed more competence than that of his robot. Or at least, he hoped. He had to get to the bottom of this before he surrendered to the thought this rumbling meant he was dying.

Zim sighed and initiated the command to watch Gir's recordings of all he saw from the past few hours he must've been out. He rewound the recording to three hours, expecting to play around the spot where they had been eating the biscuits, but found Gir occupying some live "cute" animal and perhaps killing it by accident. He kept rewinding to a surprising 9 hours and played it, watching Gir simply pour, put batter in the oven, light his grubby hands on fire, and then munch on the biscuits. He did nothing out of the ordinary. After about fifteen minutes later, Zim saw Gir catch a glimpse of himself bend over in unconsciousness as the light of his PAK died to a dark color. So that meant… he hadn't been comatose for just a couple of hours, he had been out for approximately a third of an earth day. The same amount of time a human could catch a healthy session of sleep.

Zim gasped in horror, and let Gir exit the program and return to his somewhat sense, running off without a care. Had he been SLEEPING? His squeedilyspooch rumbled again before he could do much about that dreadful thought. He clutched it, as to squeeze the growl away. Maybe this was a reaction to the biscuits alone, as he reacted to most earth food. But no, that couldn't be it. He had been forced to swallow those horrible things down his throat many times before by his robot or suffer his whines and it never made him do this. Actually, most allergic reactions to the earth food hadn't been happening lately even though they used to. Maybe he _was_ dying. His entering-a-near-to-lifeless-state was happening so much more often and with every episode, the longer and more probability to happen again there was.

HE HAD TO FIX THIS! What would be the BEST place to learn about something like this, like earth diseases among large masses of filthy biengs?

"This walking with us everyday to Skool is getting kind of awkward Zim," Dib decided to pipe up as the Irken in disguise trailed beside him.

"Don't be ridiculous, Dib-monster. I've been doing this for the past two years on those few days I decide to keep my ingenious identity concealed! Surely by now you've grown accustomed to this just as you grew accustomed to not wanting to display my intestines to the rest of your idiot species," Zim said casually.

"… yeeeah," Dib mumbled sardonically.

"And even Dib-sister has," Zim said, jabbing a finger into the side of a teenage Gaz's head.

Despite Zim had trained to walk with the two of them for two years, he didn't outwardly show it well. Trespassing Gaz's personal boundaries was a risk of death. That meant laying a finger on her.

But she was engulfed in her game and didn't desire to see Zim in pain if it meant departing from her precious world of video games that separated enough from this terrible reality. She growled and swatted away his hand, murmuring something inaudible, but sure to be a threat on his life. Zim shrugged.

"Dib, I have a question for you to unavoidably answer," he stated instead.

Dib gave him an odd look. If this was about history, which the Irken had difficulty to not fuse with own, he was going to go against his vow to befriend the alien. He had enough of his learning his own race's triumphs and mistakes, most of which even glorified. He was going off the end with teaching an alien it.

"What, Zim?" Dib snarled, hunching over.

"I've been experiencing… changes," Zim said hesitantly.

Dib was almost horrified by the simple phrase. He could hear his dad, Professor Membrane, say the exact words when he was almost fifteen and it… didn't go well. Especially sentenced with science.

"I know _nothing of Irkens growing hair in places I never want to imagine_!" Dib made clear.

"Eehm, me neither," Zim replied naively. "I just… well, this doesn't mean YOU'RE ANY BETTER THAN I, but… does your squeedilyspooch sometimes… vibrate… a bit?"

Dib gave him a bored look.

"Zim… it kills me to say I have no squeedilyspooch," Dib answered in an apathetic tone.

"Fine…, eh, what do have around in the gut area?" Zim asked. Biology. He was acing it, as history, but it took an awful amount of brain-meats.

"A stomach?"

"Yes, that…thing. Does it vibrate… at times?"

"You mean, like rumble? Yeah, when I get hungry, I guess."

"When you get hungry?"

"… yes?"

"So… it's not a sure sign of… impending death?"

"If you starve yourself, yeah."

"Starve?"

"Not eat. Why all the questions?"

Zim twiddle his six gloved fingers together, nervous to tell his once enemy this personal information even if walked alongside him for two years.

"Nothing."

Dib shrugged and continued to walk. Gaz silently played her game and the Game Slave's volume was the same as her. Zim thought to himself. He was in disbelief. Irkens… ate, yes, but the requirement was unnecessary for survival. His squeedilyspooch couldn't have weakened to the point it needed lesser FOOD to fuel him. But he was winding down a lot lately. Lost in his thoughts, he trailed behind his alleged friend and his sister toward an ineffective government system of semi-education and continuous decentralization of the country… er, I mean High Skool.

Yes. Zim had been here this long. Thing was, he gave up on enslaving the planet, well, slightly. If given the blatant chance, he would bring the planet down to his clutches, but as for trying for this chance, no. He had given up since learning he was a… untouchable and deserted by his leaders. It hurt him. He didn't admit it to himself, but it sure hurt. But wasn't that an emotion? A HUMAN one? See, this was another reason he didn't go off devastating nations, he simply wasn't prepared until he could heal this accursed malady, whatever it was that had slowly encased him over the past weeks. So, seeing as that was the case, he needed help to live a peaceful human life as an alien on this filthy planet, the only safe place for him to be. This ailment had only begun weeks ago or so, but the years of being here were mostly because he had nowhere to go, he couldn't take over earth- he was a defective and useless. The Tallests made sure he knew that. He hated them. Being an Irken and now knowing he truly was banished, the only other planet that would accept him would be Foodcourtia, so he just continued to hide here. He had no choice. He got Dib after a year or so to be an ally in return to stop… well, as Dib saw, pestering his race. And so, he trusted him. That's all he could do. He trusted Gaz even, but only that she wouldn't show her findings if she murdered him, but just the 'murdering' part was a definite likelihood. Plus, she was handy. Believe it or not, he ran into human girls. I'm not saying any LIKED him, just maybe… kicked him sometimes, and Gaz, as powerful as she was compared to other females, still showed him how to avoid these attacks. He found he liked observing her.

He looked up from the cracked cement, failing to be… good, and stared up from behind the Dib-sister in curiosity. Why she liked 3-D graphics she could control on a hand-held so much, he had no clue, but- HEY. Erupting from her backpack was a bagged lunch. Quite useful. He was already creating plans on eating for sources of energy as to experiment, and although he wasn't certain he would have reactions to the food or not anymore, it was safer with the food brought from Dib's house, right? I mean, even the humans of the cafeteria had reactions to the High Skool's food. He needed that bag. A trade was not in order, for she was too occupied to be bothered by his needs. Would Dib feel betrayed if he stole it? Eh. What did Zim care? Very little.

Zim crept from behind, up to the opening of her backpack, gleaming over the safer experiment. He put two fingers around the edges of the cardboard paper and nipped it. He stepped back. Gaz felt nothing. He pulled a little harder another time, just to make sure. Nothing. So he slipped it out and stored in his pack, without as much as a glimpse from Gaz. Now, he had to evade her presence for the rest of the day surely, but hey, this day could be a successful day.

He backed away, feeling a twinge in his squeedilyspooch. Unlike the rumble, which shook his internal organ with growls like Gir and a chew toy, it felt like a dodge ball was relentlessly hitting it in directions it shouldn't be stretching to. His mind came with an involuntary answer to it. Guilt? Nooo, it could not be. He didn't care. And as he really honestly thought about, he didn't _seem_ to care. He looked up to the female human, maybe to see if it would trigger the response again. Nope. Actually, different. He was allured into observing her again. He wasn't sure why, but it happened more and more. It hadn't come to mind it was part of the disease or anything. He noticed she was wearing a long hoodie, one that she covered most of her head and face with, and it slid past her hands, though for video-gaming they were rolled up her pale, thin hands, and somewhat down her waist. But that other piece of attire Zim couldn't quite remember was missing… oh, yes… pants. Either they were incredibly short or not existent. So that meant there was quite a lot of bare meat the Irken was "observing" on her legs. Wow. They looked… well, good?

Zim stared at Dib's legs. Nah, not as good. THIS MUST MEAN the disease was causing him to fantasize these affections of the Gaz-monster. But he didn't fight it. He rather enjoyed watching the bare flesh as it made its master's way to the High Skool, where the daily torture was to begin.


End file.
